Off Days
by Xielsius
Summary: Now, I know what this looks like, but just stop right there and give me a moment to get this absolutely clear: this is not a diary. If one of you people out there come across this, just know that this is not a diary-this is a log. My day-to-day isn't all fun and games—it's a life and death struggle to survive. Life isn't all about what happens at camp, after all.


My name is Percy Jackson, and I'm a twelve year old trying to survive through middle school. I know what you're thinking. _Middle school? Seriously? That's nothing._

But you'd be surprised. I'm not exactly known for my good luck.

My mom had always told me to look for the good in people, but preteens-at least the ones I knew-are pretty nasty. They care more about reputation than a Hollywood Celebrity, and are definitely more unrefined when it comes to bullying. I learned that the hard way in my first few months at Laman Manhattan Preparatory School.

Laman Manhattan Prep School is a pretty prestigious place, meant for the elites who can afford the tuition, filled with spoiled kids with too much money and too much time in their hands.

Needless to say, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

As for how me of all people got in? You can say I got lucky-my name was one of the few pulled from a lottery.

Well, _lucky _is one way of putting it.

"Mr. Jackson!" The sound of my name being called broke me out of my daze. Autumn had just arrived, and I had been distracted by the fiery leaves swaying about in the wind. My English teacher, Ms. Crowsby, crossed her arms.

"Uh, what?" I said dumbly, not really sure what was going on.

Her dark eyes peered disapprovingly at me, as if she were looking at a bug. She pushed her spectacles up her long, hooked nose and sighed. "Will you be so kind as to tell the class what you've been daydreaming about this whole time? It must have been quite interesting, seeing as you haven't been paying attention."

The kids in class snickered, and I felt my face grow hot.

I lowered my head to hide my face behind my hair. "Sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again."

Ms. Crowsby snorted and picked up her long, sharp pointer. "Of course it won't."

I wanted to sink even deeper into my chair at the looks the other students were giving me. "Since Mr. Jackson clearly wasn't paying attention, hm, Mr. Nadrid, please read the passage instead. Everyone, please follow along."

The heat from my face drained away as everyone began turning their focus on the reading. We were reading a passage from the first few books of _The Odyssey_, and honestly, it was pretty interesting so far. The outrageous stories of Calypso, Circe, Scylla and Charybdis, and co. were hilariously entertaining somehow. Though, if I was in Odysseus' position, I doubt I would be laughing. But it wasn't as if that would ever happen, right? The writing was surprisingly straightforward so that even I could understand bits and pieces of what was going on.

That's why, when Ms. Crowsby assigned a short essay summarizing the reading, I felt pretty good about myself. Maybe I wouldn't screw up this time. This was my chance to turn things around-I couldn't let it go to waste.

What do I mean by screw up? Well, my expulsion history can speak for itself. By sixth grade, I had already been kicked out of four schools, rejected for admission by two, and had enough probations and checks on my record that would make even a prisoner feel good about himself.

To be fair, most of the scars on my school record were because someone else tried picking fights with me first-but no one ever bothered listening to my side of the story. It's all because no teachers ever like me.

Like how in fourth grade, one of the boys in class kept throwing lunch meat at me from the back of class. I would have been fine dealing with it until he started aiming brussel sprouts into my hoodie. Of course, when he started crying about how I hit him with my plastic water bottle, the teacher reported only me to the front office while she cradled him in her lap and gave him special privileges for the rest of class.

And in fifth grade, when I actually tried hard and did well in one of the Life Science tests, a girl with a big ego accused me of cheating off of her test. The teacher walked in just as I pushed her, and I was immediately sent away with a suspension.

And then later that year...well, you get my point.

Anyway, I was determined to do well this time, and I left English class feeling more optimistic than I probably should have been.

My next class was Earth Science. Mr. Erikson was the teacher for that period, and he was the main reason I could ever pay attention in class. He had light brown hair, round glasses, and a goofy smile to match his upbeat and chill personality. You could tell that the man had a passion for science-it was hard not to share the same enthusiasm. He was also the only teacher I knew who didn't play favorites.

When I first walked into his classroom at the beginning of the year, the numerous glass cases decorated with neatly organized rocks inside grabbed my attention. They still did, but at least they were cool and educational to look at. My seat was in the back of the class, right next to the blueschist.

The tables in class were organized into four desks that were pressed up too close together for comfort, with each group of desks having names based on rock types.

I was in the Gneiss Group, promptly nicknamed "The Gneiss Guys." My table was mostly nerdy guys and one quiet girl with glasses, so at least it wasn't hellish to sit there. The only thing that sucked about my seat was that we sat next to the Hornfel Group.

Screw the Hornfels.

Sitting next to them meant that I would have to deal with Jake Nadrid and his goony friends all year. I guess even preppy schools have their share of troubled kids.

As soon as I sat down, the firing squad from the next table over began flicking wads of saliva coated paper and little eraser grains at me during class.

As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Erikson began teaching with a clap of his hands. "Alright folks! Let's begin with some trivia-how many of you are familiar with Greek Mythology?"

No one said anything for a second, but then Jake's hand shot up. "We were reading _The Odyssey _in my other class."

"Nice! Then you must know a little bit about Zeus and Poseidon and the other gods right? Let me tell you a little story about how they were born-brace yourselves! This gets a little crazy."

Mr. Erikson proceeded to reenact the whole story of the birth of the gods, and how their father, Kronos, tried to swallow all his children, but that Rhea, their mother, tricked him into eating a stone instead of Zeus, using little _Pocket Monster _figurines to illustrate.

"...and then Zeus gave him a nasty smoothie and-BAM! Kronos threw up all his siblings." Mr. Erikson pretended to gag and throw up on the floor, dropping the figurines for effect. The students giggled. "Then the gods all banded together and defeated their father, and the day was saved. Zeus became the ruler of all gods, and everyone lived happily ever after."

I tried to imagine what it would be like to have to kill your father, no matter how much of a jerk he was. If it were me, would I have had the courage to stand up to him?

"Well, the reason why I brought up this story is because of this stone. According to the Greeks, at least in some accounts, the stone that Kronos swallowed and threw up landed in Earth in a place called Delphi, Greece. The stone is supposed to mark the center of the earth, so they named it _omphalos_, which means belly button, since the belly button is something like the center of the body too."

Mr. Erikson turned on his projector and showed an image of the rock on screen. It was a kind of lackluster looking rock, if not for the carvings engraved onto its surface. They seemed to depict the myth in picture form.

Something about it made me feel a little queasy, so I turned away.

I accidentally made eye contact with Jake, and he sent a nasty sneer in my direction. Seeing his face made me feel even worse.

After classes were over, I shoved my way through the packed hallway to the cafeteria. It was lunch time, and it was one of those rare days when they served _McDonalds _for lunch instead of the normal soggy lunch meat concoction they brewed back in the kitchen everyday.

To say that I was looking forward to it was an understatement. My few bills and coins bounced in my pocket as I eagerly power walked to the cafeteria.

People gave me weird looks as I passed, but I didn't really care until I ran into someone.

"Well, if it isn't our resident flunkie, Percy Jackson. What are you so excited about?"

It was Jake Nadrid. His friends appeared too, surrounding me in a circle. The other students glanced at us nervously, but most of them continued on as if nothing was happening.

"I never flunked," I retorted. "If you'll excuse me, I have places to be-"

I tried pushing through their line, but two of them grabbed my shirt and began dragging me off towards the boys bathroom. I kicked and fought, but I was hardly a match against three boys bigger than me. Jake cackled as they half carried me into a bathroom stall and wrenched my head into the toilet bowl. The smell of sewage water made me want to gag.

For such a rich school, they did not keep their bathrooms clean.

Before I could shout, a hand fisted into my hair and shoved my face into the water. It was lukewarm and gross, and bits of unflushed toilet paper stuck to my skin.

I held my breath as long as I could, shutting my eyes to keep out the gunk.

Just when I thought my lungs were about to burst, they tugged on my hair and I gulped in fresh bathroom air. The sound of their nasally laughs were the only things I heard before my head was submerged a second time.

I struggled and tried to pull away but to no avail. Lack of oxygen was making my brain hazy, and darkness began to seep into the corner of my vision.

They were seriously going to kill me. I was going to die. For a moment, I could imagine what the inscription on my grave would read: _Here lies Percy Jackson, but no one liked him except for his mom, and he died a sad death by drowning in a toilet._

Just as I could feel my grip slipping, my mother's smiling face flashed into my mind. Her proud voice echoed in my ears.

Anger made my vision red. I was not going to die here-not like this. I couldn't leave my mom by herself-I was her only ally.

_Air! Air! _My brain screamed. I couldn't take it anymore-I sucked in a huge breath, expecting to swallow disgusting toilet water.

But...I could breathe?

Before I could process this, the sound of garbled shouting registered in my ears, and I was violently jerked away from the toilet.

I was shoved onto the cold tile floor in a puddle of water, gasping to catch my breath. The boys were cursing and I barely managed to see them hightailing it out of the restroom. The floor was wet, and I could see water overflowing from the stalls around me. Well that was weird.

"This was just a warning-no one wants you here, Jackson!"

I groaned, feeling more tired than if I had run a marathon. The vice principal found me sprawled on the floor in a puddle of gross toilet water and toilet paper, and he gave me the look.

I tried to grin. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Come with me to the office. _Now_."

Naturally, I was the one who got in trouble for causing a commotion in the boys bathroom. For some odd reason, all the toilets in that bathroom had gotten clogged and had flooded the first years' bathrooms-and I was accused of foul play.

I tried to argue that there was nothing I could possibly have flushed down the toilet to have caused such a disaster, even if it was me, but no one listened.

I missed the last two periods of class and was assigned a week of detention and trash pick up during lunch. Just my luck.

After a hellish hour of being grilled by the vice principal with some other bored kids stuck in detention like me, I was finally released from school.

I was past five in the evening when I returned to my dorm. Jake greeted me with a sneer when I returned.

"How was detention, fish brain?"

I couldn't even catch a break in my own room. I was sick of him messing with me.

"What's your deal, Jake?" I said. "What have I ever done to you?"

Jake gave me a distant look, as if he were remembering something from a long time ago. Then, his expression hardened into a vicious sneer. "You existed," he said simply. "People like you are a waste of space." Jake turned around and resumed whatever he was doing at his desk.

He was hopeless. I couldn't even bring it in me to feel hurt by his scathing remarks. Tired from...well everything, I made a beeline towards my bunk and threw myself under my blue wave patterned blankets.

When I think about it, things hadn't been all bad when we first met. Jake had certainly been a bit wary of me at first, but we had at least been on conversational terms. I had hoped that I would finally be able to make a friend for once.

My restlessness caused by ADHD had always kept some of the more straight laced kids from getting anywhere close to me, but when I was asked to read outloud a section from our U.S History textbook, I totally made a fool of myself in front of the class, branding myself as that one stupid delinquent kid who couldn't read.

Once the teasing began, Jake quickly jumped the bandwagon and, in the process, made a few friends with a common enemy.

You know it's bad when even the jocks call you dumb.

My foul mood had me tossing and turning in hot steam for a little bit, but the exhaustion from the day's events soothed my temper. At that point, lying on my back on my bunk and staring up at the ceiling, all I really wanted was to see my mom. She was my only ally, my confidant. But even if I wanted to call her, I didn't have a cell phone. And I didn't want her worrying about me-she would probably assume something terrible happened if I called her.

I wasn't so sure I could fall asleep-it was only eight-but I was dead asleep within minutes.

That night, I had a dream that I was standing in my apartment back in the Upper East Side, watching my stepdad, Gabe Ugliano, finish up a poker party with his usual group of buddies. His ugly face was coated in a sheen of sweat worked up from the heat and irritation of losing the game. Crushed beer cans littered the table and floor, and Gabe looked like he had several drinks too many from the way he was staggering to see his guests out for the night.

My mom, Sally Jackson, stepped into the scene from the kitchen to wish them good night, probably. Even with her hair all messy from work, and the deepening shadows forming under her eyes, my mom still looked warm and radiant. My eyes stung.

My mom closed the door as they left, and just like that, Gabe flipped a switch. He was known to do that, especially when he was drunk, and especially when he lost a game. Suddenly, his bloodshot eyes were wide and practically bulging from his skull and his hideous yellow teeth were bared. He pushed my mom away from himself when she tried to help him sit. My mom fell back against the door, while Gabe began pacing and groaning.

"That guy cheated! I know he did!" Gabe was grumbling. "That dirty cheat! I would've won, Sally! I gotta teach that bastard—"

My mom tried to calm him down, hands up placatingly. She looked so tired, like she had done this a million times before. "Now, dear. Sit down and have some water. Let's not be rash."

He slapped her hand away violently, and even I flinched. His words were so badly slurred that I could barely understand what he was saying. "Don't stop me, Sally! You lazy, ungrateful bitch!" I could see specks of spit flying from his mouth. "It's always 'No, dear,', 'Stop it Gabe,' 'Calm down honey,' with you! Am I a joke to you? Do you know how hard I work for us? You should be grateful that I even still let you keep that stupid son of yours around."

If I hadn't wanted to punch him before, I sure wanted to beat him up now. How dare he talk to my mom like that. My mom's eyes shifted colors the way they usually did when she got upset. "Percy has nothing to do with this, Gabe. He's my son, and I take care of all his expenses—"

Gabe belched loudly in an expression of defiance. "Shut it," he bellowed. "You know how that brat treats me. He's got a shit attitude and a shit brain. That retarded brat won't make it through middle school! He doesn't have a future. Money is going to waste on him-"

"Gabe, that's enough!" My mom almost never raised her voice. Her eyes were shining with indignation. Even blackout drunk, Gabe stared at her in surprise. The defiance in her posture was gone in an instant, and her shoulders sagged in exhaustion. "It's time to sleep, Gabe. I have work tomorrow. Make sure to cover up."

She cleared the table and retired to her room. The scene faded into black, and I woke up to the sound of furious cars and chattering people outside. I sat up, back in my dorm, about as tired as I had been when I had gone to sleep.

I had to pinch myself to make sure I was awake. Everything about what I had seen had felt so real that I'd nearly forgotten that it was a dream.

But my mom looked so real. It had been so vivid. I'd never personally seen Gabe get physical with my mom, but, when I thought about it, he wouldn't be above hitting anyone.

I hadn't seen my mom in weeks. I wanted to make sure she was okay, to see that she was still safe. I was half tempted to sneak out of my dorm and take the next train there pronto, but a glance at my clock told me that I wouldn't even have time to get ready, let alone take a tour uptown.

I got ready for school in record time, brushing and hopping on one leg to change my pants, all while cramming my backpack full of books for class. I ran into first period just as the bell rang, tripping over the uneven door panel in my rush and sprawling onto the floor like an idiot. My books and pencils were scattered across the pale linoleum, and I was so surprised at what just happened that I couldn't move for a second.

The class burst into laughter. My face burned so red that I broke out in sweat.

_Great job, me_, I thought.

I wordlessly scooped up my things, trying to ignore the snarky remarks from the students and my teacher's exaggerated sigh, and rushed to my seat.

"Nice fall, twinkle toes," someone snickered.

I collapsed at my desk, expecting to hear another barrage of insults from Jake, but all I got was a weird side look before he turned away. He wasn't even smiling or sneering, which he had done so often that it was weird seeing him with a normal expression on his face.

Maybe I'd farted in my sleep, and he was still trying to come to terms with what he'd smelled.

Anyways, I didn't think too much about it, and the day went on as usual: me, sucking in class, everyone else, pretending I didn't exist. The day was actually going remarkably well—that is, until English began.

When Ms. Crowsby announced that it was time to turn in our written essays on _The Odyssey_, I felt the blood drain from my body.

I had completely forgotten about the assignment.

Ms. Crowsby glared at me with her beady black eyes and jabbed at me with a manicured, claw-like, wrinkled finger. "Mr. Jackson. After class."

I was so dead.

I got the usual talk. You know, the _I-understand-you-have-complications-but-that's-no-excuse-for-your-poor-attitude-young-man-do-you-know-how-many-people-would-kill-for-the-kind-of-education-you-take-for-granted _talk.

I was trying to focus. I really was. But while I was berating myself, thinking _Don't get distracted! Listen to what she's saying_, Ms. Crowsby had already finished her speech. She could probably tell that I wasn't paying attention.

"Listen," she finally sighed. "At this rate, you're going to drop out of school. If you don't have the grades and record to keep up with the other students, then we have no choice. This is your last chance here—take your academics seriously. Do you understand?"

I lowered my head, embarrassed and a bit indignant. Easier said than done. "Yes ma'am."

I excused myself and trudged off to my locker. The halls were emptying out as I headed to my locker, located in the far corner by the boys bathroom. I spun the combination just as a voice called out to me from behind.

"Hey, Percy." Jake appeared next to my locker, a sullen look on his face. He was by himself, which was rare. Every time I saw him, except for in the dorms, he was surrounded by his posse of snobby rich boys. "Can we...talk?" Considering everything that happened the other day, I was just about ready to slam my locker shut in his face and storm off. I told myself that I was justified to do so, and that I wouldn't feel bad about it if I did.

I decided to listen to what he had to say against my better judgement. "It had better be quick. Thanks to _somebody_, I have detention to go to in ten minutes."

Jake was acting super weird. He came off as this confident, precocious kid who wouldn't waste a heartbeat to trample someone to the ground in order to get what he wanted. How did I know? It happened to me within the span of a few days. But now here he was, twiddling his thumbs and shifting his feet like someone about to have a nervous breakdown while trying to talk to someone who's head he shoved down a toilet just yesterday. He mustered up his voice.

"Look, about yesterday—I mean, last night...I-I overheard some things and I…" His gaze shifted around nervously, as if he was afraid of being caught. "You don't get along with your step-dad, right?"

My blood went hot, then cold, then hot again, with shame and fear and anger. I was confused as to how he found out, but more angry and wary of why he felt the need to approach me about it. "If that's all you have to say, then I'm gonna leave." I slammed my locker shut and shouldered my backpack, ready to leave.

Jake's eyes widened. "I mean-! I just...wanted to know...does he h-hit you?"

"What's it to you?" I snapped.

He fumbled. His voice came out as such a soft whisper that I had to strain to hear, almost like he didn't want to say it too loud.

"Just...my dad..." He glanced around and rolled up his sleeve. I thought he'd always wore long sleeves and dark clothes because they were a trend.

Before I could process what he'd shown me, Jake's loud friends showed up around the corner of the hallway. "There you are! We were looking for you, man," they shouted. Jake's face stiffened as they approached. "Percy's here too? What were you two talking about?"

The timid look on his face morphed into stone. "Nothing." Gosh, he was bad at bluffing. I could tell that it was a touchy topic for him, not something he wanted to let his friends know. So why would he try to confide in me?

One of them laughed. "What do you mean? It sounded pretty serious. Something about your dad…?"

For a split second, Jake's eyes flashed with something like fear. It almost made me feel bad for him. But then, his face scrunched up into one of disdain and disgust, and he let out a sharp laugh. He had done a complete one-eighty, as if the person I'd seen moments ago had never existed in the first place. Or, if he did, he had been shoved away, hidden so deep that maybe he'd never come back out again.

"Right, that," Jake drawled. "You know, Percy here—his dad is a pretty interesting person."

_No, he wouldn't_.

But he did. Jake didn't just spill the beans. He hurled them out of the can onto the floor, lit them on fire, and danced over the ashes. I must have sleep talked a lot because Jake knew more than I thought he did—how Gabe Ugliano stepped into my life a few years ago, how he played poker all night and drank too much beer, the way we fought and cursed at each other, how miserably poor and helpless we were. I didn't know why I was so embarrassed and ashamed. By the end of his speech, I was shaking so bad that I thought my knees would give out. I wanted to laugh and cry and faint all at the same time.

His friends glanced at each other. "Oh," they said.

I guess it wasn't the reaction Jake had been looking for. His face became really red, and then he said, "Yeah. I feel bad for the mom. I mean, I figured she would have low standards from meeting Percy, but to think she would sink that low-"

Something inside me crumbled. I think it was my sanity. It had been beaten and whittled away for quite a while, I think, and it finally shattered to pieces.

I don't remember a lot of what happened next. One moment I was standing there all stunned, and the next, Jake was on the floor with me straddling his torso, his nose broken and face bruising and bloodied, screaming and trying to defend himself from my flying fists of fury. People were gathering, and some of them were pulling me away by the arms, shouting at me to stop, that I was going to kill him. And, honestly, I didn't actually care at the moment, because I really wanted to.

No one insulted my mom and got away with it.

The last thing I can recall is someone helping a sobbing, crying Jake to his feet and carrying him away, and me screaming at him to come back and fight. Then, someone punched me real hard, right in the chin.

It was probably a mixture of tensed nerves and exhaustion that made me blackout like a broken light. That, and it was a nasty hit.

When I woke up, I was being detained in a hospital room, being treated for a black and blue bruise that was welling up on my jaw. The officer informed me that I would be released once my parents arrived, and also that I had been promptly expelled from Laman Manhattan Prep School—which, really, the only surprise had been that I'd managed to last that long in the first place. The police officer also kindly reported that Jake, who I'd mauled half to death just a few hours ago, had a broken nose, two black eyes, and a missing tooth.

"You really did quite the number on him, didn't you," she said with a raised eyebrow, as I nursed my bruises with an ice pack.

That should have been the best news all day.

My mom showed up not ten minutes later, breathless and wild-eyed. She took one look at me, stormed over, and engulfed me in a rib-crushing hug. I guess that was my punishment for being bad—having my lungs crushed in an excruciatingly painful bear hug.

They must've called her while she was still at work, because she was still wearing her _Sweet in America_ red, white, and blue apron uniform, and the familiar, comforting smell of peppermint, licorice, and other sweets was stronger than usual. I didn't realize how much I missed her in the past few weeks until my eyes started getting all misty. When she finally let go, my mom looked me in the eyes.

"Let's go home."

I never thought I would be thinking it, but, even with Smelly Gabe around, I couldn't wait to get back home. We took the train back, ignoring the weird looks people gave me when they saw my face all jacked up.

My mom squeezed my hand tightly and gave me a stiff smile. I knew I was in trouble, but I was at least glad that she was waiting to ask me about it. At that moment, I really just wanted to have a moment to brood and feel sorry for myself.

I lived in Upper East Side, in a small apartment on the second floor where I had an excellent view of the dumpster. My mom slid the key into the rusty bronze door knob and we entered the apartment. You had to push a little extra to get the door open, and the sound alerted the people inside to my arrival.

"You're back. What's with the face, huh? Got into a fight?" Gabe Ugliano, my stepdad, sat on the couch like a sack of potatoes in all his true glory. He reeked of old pizza and smelly gym clothes, and dark stains matted his discolored white tank top. Gabe's potbelly bulged out through his grey boxers, and I could see his little knot of a belly button poking out from underneath.

_Omphalos. _Center of the world, huh? I was honestly surprised at myself for remembering the name.

He glared at me through bloodshot eyes, pausing to sip at a can of beer. "What're you grinning for?"

"Nothing. I'm not grinning." I cursed myself inwardly for having a middle schooler's sense of humor.

My mom sighed and set down her keys on the kitchen counter. "Percy. Let's talk."

Here it comes. "Okay," I said, probably sounding really whiny and dejected. Gabe looked intrigued.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, dear. Percy just got into a little...disagreement with one of his classmates," my mom said, trying to brush it off. Gabe narrowed his eyes.

"If it was something little, then he wouldn't be at home. Don't tell me...the little brat got expelled _again?_"

The way he said it made heat crawl back into my face. I already knew it was bad—I didn't need Smelly Gabe spelling it out for me.

Mom tried to cover for me. "Don't worry about it, dear. I'll handle it-"

"No, no, no! This involves me now—me and my money! You're going to enroll him in another school, aren't you? One of those expensive boarding schools," Gabe spat. He stood up, grabbing his bottle of Diet Coke mixed with beer. "Can't this retard stay in one place for longer than a month? How much money do we have to waste on his stupid education?"

This conversation sounded oddly familiar. My mom stood in front of me defensively. "Gabe, I said I'll handle it. Please, just calm down," she begged.

Then, he did something unexpected. Gabe slapped my mom. It was loud and sharp, and clearly strong enough to send her stumbling back. She clutched her cheek, eyes wide. I was so stunned that I couldn't move.

"Shut up! Stop disrespecting me," Gabe roared. My mom flinched. "I've half a mind to throw your kid onto the streets-"

The sound of rumbling made Gabe stop mid-rant. The floors and walls were shaking, and strange metal creaks echoed through the building. My mom looked around, face pale save for the angry red patch where Gabe had hit her.

Gabe scowled, looking around a bit uneasily. "What? An earthquake?"

"Percy…?" My mom asked tentatively.

I hardly heard them speak. Everything was red.

_Boom!_

All the facets in our apartment exploded with a loud sound, spraying water from their nozzles like broken fire hydrants. The toilet and shower in the bathroom began running with water, overflowing onto the wood and filling the rooms with smelly water. Even the pipes in the walls began to leak into the living room, drenching our furniture.

Gabe let out a shout of surprise as a pipe burst right above him, showering high pressure water down like a waterfall onto the floor right next to him. "Woah! What's going on?"

My mom looked around desperately. "Gabe, grab your things and let's go. Our whole room is about to flood!" Sure enough, we were all about ankle deep in water. Without a moment's hesitation, Gabe scooped up a packet of beer and rushed out the front door.

My mom shook my shoulder. I was still rooted to the spot. "Percy? Percy! You have to calm down, okay? Just relax."

I couldn't believe what she was saying. Gabe had just slapped her, and she was telling _me _to relax? "Mom, he—that guy—he," I spluttered. She could probably read the frustration in my face. She leaned over and hugged me tight.

Her hand ruffled my hair in that soothing way she always used to do when I was upset as a kid. "It's okay, Percy. Everything is okay. Let's get out of here, and we'll talk about it later. Just calm down first, okay? Can you do that for me, please?"

We finally got out of the leaky apartment, joining all the other tenants whose apartments had suddenly flooded. The landlord, the super, and all the plumbers who came by were baffled by the sudden incident, claiming that there had been an inspection just a few weeks ago, and everything had been fine. The stream of water, at least, had seemed to cease, and for the night, we were told to find someplace else to stay. Gabe had decided to go out and stay over at one of his poker buddies' house, while my mom and I hunted for cheap motels to crash at for the night.

While we checked into the room and set down what little stuff we had, I said, "I'm sorry." For some reason, it felt like everything had happened because of me—which it mostly had, except for the flooding. I mean there was no way I could have caused the pipes to burst like that, right?

My mom looked at me, her expression a little tense. "Why are you sorry?"

I shrugged. "I...I don't know. I'm just really, really sorry."

She looked at me for a moment, studying my face. Then, she broke out into a smile, and she looked about ten years younger. "You know, with every passing day, you look even more and more like your father."

I made a face. "Smelly Gabe?"

She chuckled. "No. Your real father, dear." She sat down on the bed next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. "You have the same black hair, the same wonderful eyes, and the same kind, kind heart."

"Sure," I muttered. "So kind."

She smiled again, beaming at me as if I was somebody to be proud of. It tore me up inside. "You just aren't seeing what I'm seeing, Percy." She planted a kiss on my forehead through my hair. "You might not think it now, but it's not just me. Someday, you'll find someone who really sees you for who you are."

Her words echoed in my brain long after we tucked in for bed that night.

_You'll find someone who sees you for who you are._

But if I didn't even know who I was, how could someone else?

After being expelled from Laman Manhattan, we scrambled to find a new school for me to enroll in before the semester ended for the winter, hopefully one that was cheap enough to appease Gabe.

And then we stumbled upon Yancy Academy, a wonderful school for troubled kids.

Am I a troubled kid? Yeah, if that hadn't been made obvious.

The first day I moved into the dorms and attended school, I got the usual looks. Everyone stares you up and down, watches you with a wary eye, assessing where you stand in the social ladder. After transferring schools, this was about the sixth time in six years—I was hoping to not make the number higher. Before I got to school, I was convinced that the only way to do that was to keep to myself. Don't get involved with anyone, don't suffer the consequences.

How hard could that be?

Very hard, apparently. During recess, after slipping out of Pre-Algebra to avoid having to talk to anyone curious, I headed to a secluded bench under a tall tree by the cafeteria. I took out my lunch—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple—and began to eat. I was already beginning to feel a little bit miserable all by myself, but then, I heard a weird sniffing sound somewhere near me, like an animal searching for food.

Now, I don't hate animals. But I can't tell you how many times I've had my lunch stolen by wild birds and squirrels in the past few years. I was feeling pretty sour, and I wasn't about to deal with another wild animal trying to steal my food.

I turned around, about ready to chuck my water bottle at whatever animal was sneaking around in the bushes behind me.

"Wait! Don't shoot!" A boy was crouching by the leaves next to me, arms raised in defense. He had curly brown hair, a scrawny, short build, and wide, scared eyes like a deer in headlights. I think I recognized him in a few of my classes.

"Why are you here? And why were you smelling my...shirt? I'll decide whether I throw this or not after you answer me," I said, brandishing my weapon.

The boy looked flustered. "I-I wasn't...I mean—the apple! I was...looking at the apple." He deflated. "Sorry...i-it just smelled good so I…"

Did an uncut apple even smell that good? I guess he must have been really desperate for food if that was the case, so I offered him the apple. I wasn't all that hungry anyway. I thought he would leave after I gave him the fruit, but he just plopped down on the bench next to me and, with the biggest bite I'd ever seen, devoured half the apple in a single go. When he noticed me staring, he blushed. "Oh, sorry. Did...did you still want some?"

I shook my head. "Nah. I'm good."

The boy had this weird look on his face the whole time he was eating, like he was trying to say something, but was too scared to say anything. I could tell because he kept sneaking glances at me out of the corner of his eye, but would pretend that he was focusing on the grass or the trees when I looked over. It was starting to feel really awkward. Finally he finished his apple, and I said, "What?"

He looked at me, equally confused. "What?"

"Is there something you need from me or…?" I guess it came out a little more aggressive than I meant it to, but it was probably for the best if people started avoiding me. I stared him down, and he began shifting uncomfortably.

"Nothing. S-sorry for bothering you. I'll...leave now—thanks for the apple though." The boy stood up and began heading off, when I noticed that he was limping.

"Where are you going?" I asked offhandedly.

The boy scratched his head. "Um, to the classroom."

That was on the third floor. I started feeling a little bad. The boy hobbled away slowly, feet scraping against the grass. "Wait," I called. The boy's head whipped around, his eyes wide and full of hope, as if he had been waiting for me to say something this whole time. "I never said you had to leave. You can...sit here if you want."

As if his whole limp was a joke, the boy rushed back to the bench and made himself at home. It was a little funny to see how excited he got, but also a little weird. "Thanks," he said.

"Right." I went back to chewing on my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "I'm Percy, by the way. New here." As if didn't already know.

The boy offered his hand, which I shook. It was awkwardly formal, and his palms were oddly sweaty. I had an odd feeling that I would have to get used to that. "Yeah, I remember. My name's Grover—Grover Underwood. Nice to meet you."

* * *

Afterword

A disclaimer: I don't own the story this was based off of, clearly. Percy might come off as a little out of character, a little more pessimistic than normal. I'm sorry if you find that disconcerting in any way. Also, this story is meant to be a shoot off of the main stories, what goes on when Percy isn't at Camp Half-Blood. Hopefully, this was enjoyable, if only a little bit, to read. Thank you.


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